The world smelled of burnt stone and blood.
When Evelyn forced her eyes open, she saw nothing but smoke. Her lungs screamed with every breath, and her fingers were raw from gripping Clara so tightly. She coughed, the sound rough and desperate, and tried to push herself upright.
The battlefield was unrecognizable. Blackened craters marred the earth where the explosion had ripped through, swallowing entire structures in its fury. The air shimmered faintly, unstable, as if reality itself was still bleeding from the wound Clara had carved.
"Damien…? Zeke?" Her voice cracked as she struggled to call out.
A shape moved in the haze—broad-shouldered, staggering but alive. Damien emerged, his sword scorched, his arm hanging limp at his side. His eyes found Evelyn's, relief flashing in them before he dropped to one knee with exhaustion.
"Still breathing," he muttered hoarsely, forcing a crooked grin. "Guess that counts as a win."
Zeke followed a moment later, pale but composed, his coat torn along one side where blood seeped through. He didn't stumble. He never stumbled. But the tightness around his mouth betrayed the strain. His eyes flicked from Evelyn to Clara immediately.
Evelyn's arms were still wrapped around Clara, who lay unconscious, chest rising and falling with fragile breaths. Her skin was clammy, her lips pale. The faint golden shimmer that had surged through her in that moment of defiance was gone, leaving her looking smaller, weaker.
"She saved us," Evelyn whispered, brushing damp hair from Clara's face. "She burned herself out, but she saved us."
Damien collapsed fully onto the rubble, leaning his head back with a long groan. "Good to know we've got a miracle button. Bad to know the button comes with a self-destruct feature." He shot a weak smile at Evelyn's glare. "Too soon?"
Zeke crouched beside them, expression unreadable as always. But Evelyn saw it—the flicker of calculation in his eyes, the silent weighing of Clara's worth against the risk she now posed. It made her stomach twist with unease.
"Don't even think it," Evelyn hissed.
Zeke didn't flinch. His gaze met hers with cold steadiness. "If she falters again, Yurin will take her. You know it. I won't hesitate when the time comes."
"She's not a tool, Zeke. She's one of us."
"She's a liability," Zeke corrected softly. Not cruelly. Just flat. As if he were stating a law of nature.
Evelyn's fingers curled protectively around Clara's hand. "If you touch her—"
"Then what?" Zeke asked, tilting his head slightly. "Will you kill me before Yurin kills us all? Would that make you feel better?"
Damien raised his uninjured hand weakly. "Okay, time-out. You two can schedule your murder-threesome later. Right now we should probably focus on the giant crimson psychopath who's still out there."
The smoke thinned slightly, revealing just how badly the land had fractured. Whole sections of earth floated at odd angles, gravity bending in wrong directions. Evelyn felt the hairs on her arms prickle—Yurin's influence hadn't vanished. Clara's burst of defiance had slowed it, not ended it.
And yet, for the first time in what felt like forever, Evelyn dared to believe. Because Clara was still breathing. Because somehow, they were still together.
"We need to move," Zeke said abruptly. His tone brooked no argument. "This area will collapse soon. We'll regroup and reassess before Yurin makes his next move."
Evelyn wanted to fight him. Wanted to scream. But the sharp edge in his voice reminded her that survival wasn't optional. She nodded reluctantly, tightening her hold on Clara.
Damien pushed himself to his feet with a wince, sheathing his battered blade. "Fine. But first chance we get, I'm stealing a bed, a week of sleep, and maybe a sandwich the size of my head."
Despite herself, Evelyn almost smiled. The absurdity of it felt like a lifeline in the ruins.
Together, the three of them began moving, carrying Clara through the wreckage. Each step was heavy, every breath scraping. But they kept going.
As they walked, Evelyn glanced sideways at Zeke. His face was calm, detached, but his hand lingered near the pocket where he kept his glyph knife. She knew what it meant. He was ready.
Her grip on Clara tightened.
"No one touches her," Evelyn whispered to herself.
Above them, the sky cracked faintly with crimson light, like a wound that refused to heal. Somewhere in the shadows beyond, Yurin Crimson was watching. Waiting.